<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>UnBigglesTitled by Tizian23</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229331">UnBigglesTitled</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tizian23/pseuds/Tizian23'>Tizian23</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carl Barât - Fandom, Pete Doherty - Fandom, The Libertines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Band Fic, Closeted Character, Confessions, M/M, One True Pairing, Rock and Roll, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:15:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,919</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229331</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tizian23/pseuds/Tizian23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl Contemplates Life...with and without the ones he loves.<br/>Mischief Sex Blood and Romance come to mind.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carl Barât &amp; Pete Doherty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Peter and Carl fics to lift our spirits during self-isolation</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>UnBigglesTitled</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was my very first fic i ever wrote. Its old. Like about 6 years. It was inspired by Carl flying to Barcelona to see Peters vernissage and thus sort of ingniting the whole reunion!<br/>My mind is a gutter, so of course i was sure he didn't just fly there to look at Peters paintings.<br/>Still am =)<br/>💙</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I am in front of my bathroom mirror, alone and half naked (YES!.. I'm never by myself these days - It's always so loud around me - I'm amazed about that? ),but for once I can hear myself think whilst staring at my reflection.<br/>
Wondering, contemplating, taking honest measure of myself... I try to look at myself in a very distanced way - As others may see me - As my love, my child, my best mate, friends, people I work with, strangers see me?... And finally I allow myself to think of you...<br/>
How you would see me...as you' ve been almost all of that before, and more anyway...<br/>
I haven't seen you in person for such a long time...<br/>
I think that you might see me with totally new eyes - Would you still see the real me?<br/>
I know I' ve changed a lot. Maybe more inside than visibly, but still ...how I carry myself, and a lot of what I think has shifted significantly.. .Comes with growing up I think; making experiences and finally having the time to over-think them and make them work for me.</p><p>My hair is a bit lighter and I wear it longer now, but don't feel the urge to hide behind it as much. I grew out of that kind of shyness, it left with the knowledge that I was loved...Yes, there are gray hairs as I gave up on pulling them out secretly, hoping that no one saw them...I tried dying it but felt so pretentious about it that I never considered it again. (...Your hands were always in my hair - how you enjoyed being the only one who was allowed to do this - you liked the scent of it, touching it, rolling it around your finger tips... or your whole hand in the more heated moments - am I blushing now ?!)<br/>
My eyes are still the same; very blue - well, they've always been like that... I don't try intentionally to play them up - well, not usually - they're not outstanding to me... I see them every day.<br/>
But I know other people find them intriguing... A lot of words were used to describe their color - I like sapphire best ( although you insisted that they change their color when I'm in different moods, or when we ...ah, let's not go there now..).</p><p>Lashes; yes, long and dark - forever making girlfriends jealous and wanting to put eyeliner or mascara on them - Not that I needed it or let them. (but brushing your cheek...nah...not this again...)<br/>
I 've got some tiny wrinkles... They call 'em laughter lines but I'm pretty sure I didn't laugh often enough in the last years to deserve them - I don't mind them though. (I've only ever truly and freely laughed with you... Spent whole nights giggling into your shoulder, off my head, mostly. Being silly because I knew you would understand me anyway - and without words. In your absence, I have given a lot of wry, fake smiles to practically everyone who dared to talk to me though..)</p><p>My nose? I've always thought it was too big and somewhat misplaced in my face - but I came to peace with it over the years as no one else seemed to think it is. ( You used to kiss me on the tip of it back then...silly, but I secretly loved it since it was such an intimate, but innocent, gesture).</p><p>Lately, I'm able to grow decent looking designer stubble; another advantage of getting older as a man. I like myself with a beard... it makes me feel less like a pretty boy... somewhat grown up, casual...well yeah, okay, a bit manly too...But complaints about it being scratchy soon followed (You never complained about it, even though you sometimes looked quite ravished; your lips... your cheeks.... I felt as if I could see my kisses on your skin... It made me fucking glow in the dark with secret want..ahh...it just keeps on coming back... )</p><p>My mouth -(I'm smiling now - trying to get it right without it looking staged).<br/>
Yeah... tons of things have been said about my mouth...mostly dirty things and that's it's girly - too red, too pouty, even if I don't sulk at all...<br/>
It must have been kissed thousands of times by now; by girlfriends -yeah okay, boys too - fans, strangers ..people whose names I never knew, but enjoyed none the less... it always felt tentative and alien for a spilt second.. ( unless your breath hit my skin before, that spark of unknown magic between us... and then in its wake your lips met mine..whenever, wherever... It excites me even now to think of your mouth on mine. I could taste your love always; your mood mostly, your thoughts sometimes, your drugs later in your kiss... no other person ever gave me that.)<br/>
My chin...I'm rubbing it with my thumb - well, the scar is still there. I'm even quite fond of it now... ...Every town drunk should have one like this, as a fellow drunkard told me in the pub once...<br/>
Scars are such private reminiscences of your life...I hate the fact that every one knows about it.<br/>
I've got quite a few scars, (but this one is special... Reminds me of the pain and the love I felt that night.<br/>
Fire, bliss and blood everywhere. Bright lights...I was so fuckin' confused and exceptionally drunk. Quite out of my mind actually, I felt safe though. I knew you felt the same and you'd take care of me always...I trusted you in that)</p><p>My neck has been home to so many hugs and sighs that I can hardly count them.<br/>
It's been touched, kissed and bitten - sometimes twisted when I sleep the wrong way - and it's so painful for a whole sodding week ...<br/>
It's soft skin has been scratched hundreds of times when I hung my guitar strap around it... and there were surely times I thought about fucking slitting it with the sharpest surface I could find. (...Never did though...for it held your dirty whispers, sweet promises and - often enough - your tears too... Your hands... your arms around it as your lips trailed, your teeth bruised and I wore the signs of our love/your passion with pride every time... )<br/>
My shoulders and my arms - well, what can i say?<br/>
I never had to work for them to be as they are, I've been slender my whole life. They are the average man's arms I guess (..until the day we decided to wrap our branding around it.<br/>
It was your idea and my signature, our highest ideals. It almost said: "Albion to Arcadia", but it seemed to long for my arm...<br/>
My shaking hand carefully winding my letters around your arm, there was a needle mark above it. I'll never forget trying to avoid the sight of it - but also felt that this for you, was a way more painful procedure. It was a different kind of needle and one you totally deserved to have. You held my hand trying not to cry when needles where sliding hot into my skin; it felt as if eternity touched us for a moment. I can't get over all those who wear the same one now, and I feel sorry for them - that they didn't have the same intense, delicious feeling of love and panic when the pain licked their skin.)</p><p>My belly...it's as silky and tanned-looking now as it was when I was 22.<br/>
I was too shy to take my shirt off in front of strangers for a long time, simply because I wasn't comfortable enough to want to do it...but then (with you) on stage, it felt natural and I got a little high every time I saw eyes go wide, and heard people cheer...I still do.<br/>
Yes, I have to take care of it now though... I tend to gain some tiny love handles if I actually eat like a normal, healthy person and feel content with my life. ( I know you liked my belly a lot, your hands were all over it when ever you could, and your fist sometimes, when we fought.<br/>
...Rubbing yourself against it , coming on it - you did that a lot of times too. I remember the red scratches - they were my own for a while but then they were yours - your nails were sharp enough to leave traces, to steal some of my blood. ..I don't even blush anymore when I thought of this and how you liked that.... I seem to have given in to this train of thoughts... )<br/>
My hip bones. I try to hide them, as i feel they're part of an intimate nakedness to be shared with lovers.<br/>
That's why I like belts - but my jeans keep secretly slipping to show them off.<br/>
.. Same goes for the damn dimples I've got over my arse. Those two things.<br/>
They are just so...on display.. every time I bloody move. I've given up on hiding this piece of too private skin away....But it's not so bad that I' d actually start tucking my shirts in my jeans, I guess. (I think of your bruised fingerprints close to them. Sucking them. Grabbing them hard. Your velvet tongue sliding over them and dipping into the hard surface that's covered by almost painfully sensitive skin.. I rub them, absent- mindedly... Oh damn, am I getting hard now over this...? Seriously? )<br/>
Since I'm quite obviously enjoying this trip down memory lane and no-one's yet interrupted me...it's still all quiet here, thank God!...I take the time to actually turn around and look at my arse in our full length bathroom mirror... Even more than my mouth this part got a lot of attention, which I can't deny that I liked, but never really understood.<br/>
I just put it in in a pair of tight jeans everyday because I feel lost in loose trousers but they're useless at hiding the afore mentioned hip bones and damn dimples.<br/>
"World Famous Rock Star Bottom" I've heard it been called...That made me grin for a whole day.( ... more because you kept repeating it every time you saw someone sneaking a peek. Seemed to have happened a lot i remember. ...Your hands traveling down my back, thumbs in the dimples, rough fingertips on my skin. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. ..You used to sleep with a hand in the naked slope of my back , possessive and tender in the same moment. I felt ridiculously happy waking up and feeling it there. )<br/>
I'm ticklish on my thighs almost everywhere - but from my perspective right now they look okay - tanned recently. I fucking love soaking up sun when I can and feel the heat kiss my unspoiled skin. ( I always used to have tell tale marks of your ownership there because you liked the color of it - but I wouldn't let you touch me gently - so you were not gentle... I remember one very awkward visit to the beach with the band in Spain when I later noticed the obvious love-bite in the hollow of my knees.. Damn, even one in each knee . You put the Cheshire Cat to shame when I told you about it later.)<br/>
Looking at my knees, I can think of nothing but that they look fine, now. (...they never did when you were around. They were always sodding blue... How I loved to drop dramatically to my knees when we fought, trying to avoid more trouble - offer something you could never turn down - no matter what...<br/>
That, or you'd push me roughly - face and knees first - into random walls for various different reasons... Thank God I was never a huge fan of performance related kneeling on stage - who knew what kind of show that would have turned into.. Also wincing in pain when my knees hit the stage floor would have ruined the Grandezza of this gesture considerably. I'm giggling dirtily to myself, thinking this).<br/>
My feet are simply sized to the rest of my body and are in no way special... Crazy ticklish though, and no- one is allowed to touch, or even look at them.<br/>
Only God knows how I got the damn pedicure done..(probably by thinking of that time i almost kicked your head in when you insisted on sucking my toe. Apparently you'd read somewhere, that it's supposed to feel sexy.... It took you an half an hour to get me that far and and another 10 minutes to actually wrap your mouth around it -, it made me feel exceptionally kinky, but not turned on... Until i realized you had the same look in your eyes wrapping your beloved sloppy-slutty mouth around other parts of my body.... But as soon as you touched the toe with your tongue, I twitched and a gush of blood put a premature end to all planned naughty festivities. But I also recall the sweet little twist in my heart every time I saw the tips of my toes between yours when we leant into each other for tender, or not so tender, reasons... Kissing you always required standing on my toes.)<br/>
I am getting cold so I walk over to the bed room to get dressed...Just black jeans and some white top, a plaided shirt for today, topped by dirty converse and my trusty leather. I am a clothes snob though - I like to dress invisibly expensive and yet still look very basic. My taste in clothing... mmm...it was a tad fancy at times, I've even let myself be talked into furs and rather adventurous hats. Later I relished the amusement of secretly thinking I looked like a twat, but still a snotty rock -starish one. (You nailed your style pretty quickly, leaving me to feel somewhat underdressed in your slim suit-ed and silk tie-ed, scarf flinging, silver polished presence of clumsy sweetness....hiding your darkness never at all.<br/>
Then you told me -on a sidenote- that you dress to make the same impression I leave on people by simply sitting and staring at them for a while....Then proceed to mumble something outstandingly clever/silly/senseless/stupid and stroll off to look for a drink, leaving beauty and mystery behind and wordless amazement.<br/>
I've never felt underdressed anywhere again... I was also so turned on that a couple of your buttons parted company with that shirt of yours that night.)</p><p>As I lace my shoes I think it's normal that I changed from being a young heart, filthy sexy, fucking reckless, and not taking care of myself simply because I didnt have to.<br/>
Learning to fly takes trust and the will to let yourself drop backwards without any fear. ( You did that. You showed me how to do it. And caught me.... Well of course.)<br/>
I could indulge in half the contents of Filthy's bar cellar and wake up with merely a bad taste in my mouth. (You said you liked me hungover. Something about my smell that made you eternally hungry for me...)<br/>
I didn't have to make effort to look good - just did. I think now, that it's because I was fucking 22 and I didn't care....(Plus I was in love, and only one person's gaze ever really mattered to me...)<br/>
There was no need to carefully select my clothing, I was young and looked cool no matter what I wore.( ...And getting undressed was much more interesting anyway. You touched every inch of my skin you discovered underneath as if it was the first time..)<br/>
I could snort all the coke that was offered to me and wake up the next afternoon remembering the whole night until the moment I passed out....every drink, every kiss I stole, every stupid thing I said. No depressive "Oh my God, what have I done, everybody saw me and what do they think of me now?" -moods the next day while my nose wouldn't stop bleeding, as it does these days. ( I took most of the coke probably only because it required us to be alone whilst doing it, you offered it to me as a neat line off your inner wrist.... Which I licked afterwards... lost in your scent and our shared high.)</p><p>Growing out of old habits and finding new ones was part of the process to find myself - not becoming boring - but settling comfortably in my own skin and mind, allowing myself to be fallible and sometimes stupid... I admire people who make peace with their demons...Being able to laugh at myself and finally paying less attention to other people's opinion - trusting my own mind - is what keeps me in a sane state of mind.<br/>
On my way to the door I put my mobile and my keys on the kitchen counter and deliberately ignore the bag I packed last night.<br/>
Leaving like this feels like eloping with my memories of you....I put fags, credit card and passport in my pockets. Suddenly I turn around blushing (yeah, I never did get rid of that ) and run back to the bedroom; I quickly search through my drawers, (cursing my dirty mind under my breath).<br/>
There it is... I knew it.<br/>
I put it in my other pocket and ask myself how I'll explain at the airport if someone asks me why I think I need nothing but high hopes and lube when I fly to Barcelona.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>